


Glaciers Melting (In The Dead Of Night)

by Duffy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Slash, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duffy/pseuds/Duffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cold wind is blowing through the open window when the assassin faces his target again in the middle of the night. But it's not the fight he's here for. </p><p>It's the rescue.  </p><p>(Tags and rating will be added and changed later in progress of the story.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm incredibly nervous about posting the first chapter of my story since it is my first attempt at writing in the Captain America fandom, it's also my first fic which is going to have more than one proper chapter that actually belong together. I started writing weekes ago but couldn't get myself to share it yet.
> 
> Please have in mind that I'm not a native English speaker. But I have a lovely beta reader - biggest thanks to the lovely [Christina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/strykerxlr8) \- who told me it's safe to publish and kicked my ass to finally make it public.

The folder Natasha had given him a few days ago laid on the kitchen table, a mug filled with coffee right next to it. He had already read it dozens of times when he had stayed at Sam’s for a couple of day, but since he came back to his flat, he hadn’t touched it.

It’s been three days already.

The coffee was cold, half empty, forgotten in the morning when Steve had sat on the table, staring at the cover of the brown paper. He really wanted to find his former friend. But right now he just couldn’t get himself to open the folder again and face what Bucky had become even though he already had seen it with his own eyes.

There were noises coming from near the small living room. Steve kneeled on the floor there, the sleeves of his sweater jacket that sat a bit tight around his broad shoulders were pushed up to his elbows. He drowned a cloth in a bucket of soapy water. There were reddish bubbles on the floor, the air smelled of soap and metal.

It was Nick Fury’s blood he was wiping away. No one’s been here since the attack that had temporarily killed Fury. Steve had been everywhere but in his apartment. But now he was here, and so were the damages on the floor and the walls the bullets had left behind.

He needed a distraction and everything he saw around him reminded him too much of the recent events. So he had to get rid of it. He didn’t care that water was soaking through the fabric of his trousers around his knees. He was wearing sweat pants, just like the ones he did when he was in the hospital with Natasha. He was still heavily bruised and had a few broken ribs. It was the most comfortable clothes he had.

He placed the wet cloth on the floor, the dry blood slowly giving away on the wooden floor again. The smell didn't bother him anymore, he had smelled so much blood recently, he'd gotten used to it.

He sat back on his heels and let the red soaked cloth slip back into the bucket. He stretched his back, for a moment he had totally forgotten about his bruised ribs but now the movement sent a piercing pain through his body. He rolled his neck and through the open door he spotted the coffee mug that still stood on the table. His thoughts went back to the file he had tried to read this morning.

So much for a distraction.

He turned back to grab the cloth to finish his work when he heard a light noise coming from around the corner in his living room. He let go of the cloth and wiped his hands on his trousers. Slowly, he turned around to look around the corner but there was nothing. He let his gaze wander around but there wasn't anything that could have caused the indefinable sound. Must have been his imagination…

He got up from the floor and collected his things. The blood was gone, the floor just had to dry. At least one of the reminders was gone now. Baby-steps.

He emptied the dirty water into the sink and also washed out the coffee mug. He'd make himself a fresh one and maybe this time he'd get himself to eventually open the folder again to read the information and notes once more.

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier. It was hard to accept what had happened to his best and, earlier, only friend when he hasn't been the super soldier yet he was now.

He made himself a fresh pot of coffee despite it already being afternoon. The caffeine would keep him awake but it wasn't like he could sleep anyway. His sweatpants were dry again when he sat down on the kitchen table for the second time that day. He pulled over the folder and after taking a deep breath, he eventually opened the cover. The two pictures of Bucky were still pinned to the left side. The big picture of him, him frozen in the tank, his long messy hair. He had lost everything that had made him the nice and sympathetic young man he had been before. Like the man he was on the tiny picture which was attached to the bigger one.

The scent of the fresh coffee filled the air, the metallic smell not noticeable anymore. The floor had dried.

Steve turned to the right page that contained all the personal information about Bucky. He didn't have to read them, he knew them by heart. Even before reading the file for the first time, he had known everything. Just like Bucky had known everything about him all those years ago.

He turned over the page. There were a few pages after that, containing information about what had happened to Bucky. What they, HYDRA, had done to him after he had been fallen all the way down from the train. No normal human would have survived that but he did with lots of broken bones and an arm that had been ripped off. They found him on the ground in the snow, lips and fingers frozen but his heart still beating. They had fixed him and made him their experiment just like they had done when they had first gotten him. But this time they went further to continue with the different serums Zola had invented to make him stronger. To turn him into a weapon.

Steve closed the folder, he couldn't look at the messy handwriting anymore that described the horrible procedures Bucky had to endure. How they drugged him, attached a metal arm. How they erased his memories and completely brainwashed him. It was too much for him and he found himself clenching his fist once more without realizing.

He relaxed his hand and reached for the hot coffee to have a sip. It burned down his throat but it calmed him down.

The smaller old photo of Bucky had slipped halfway out of the folder, the paperclip had fallen off when Steve had abruptly closed the stolen folder.

His facial expression suddenly changed and went a bit thoughtful. He pulled the small picture of Bucky completely out, took his mug and went over to the living room, where he settled down on the floor in front of a small drawer and set both picture and mug down next to him. He pulled open the lowest drawer and looked inside. Old photo albums which had wrinkled pages and yellow corners, and loose pictures, old and new ones cluttered above and in between, filled the whole drawer

He pushed up his sleeves before he buried his hands in the pictures, shuffling them around and taking some out, piling them up on the floor. Most of them were old, from times when he was still small and ill and not permitted to join the army. Tony had given him a huge box a few months ago, telling him that he had found it in the attic of one of his dad's houses when he had died. Steve's name had been written on the box. Apparently Howard Stark had saved the memories when Steve went missing and couldn't come home anymore. Just in case because you never know.

Lots of the picture were memories of the good old days. He looked at the small picture of Bucky he had placed next to his coffee. It was from the same time most of the other pictures were taken. He had a special picture in mind when he dug into the drawer again. It took him a while until he found what he was looking for. It were two pictures, black and white, slightly yellow on the wavy edges. They were both pinned together with an old paper clip. He pulled them apart, absentmindedly sipping on his coffee when he looked at the first of the two photographs. It was a picture of Bucky and him, standing outside, leaning against the hood of Bucky's first own car. They were both smiling into the camera, he remembered how Bucky's mom had taken it and made a copy for him. Steve had still been small and weak compared to the young man next to him, but Bucky had still wanted to be his friend. He turned the picture around. _Steven and James, 1937_ , was written in a scrawny handwriting on the backside.

The other picture was also of the both of them. But this time they were both wearing their uniforms. It was years later and Steve had turned into the super soldier they wanted him to be. He couldn't remember who had taken the picture but he remembered it was one of the rare happy days during war.

They were both smiling at each other. There was nothing written on the backside.

He took the pictures aside, placed the others back inside the drawer and closed it again. Back at the kitchen table, he opened the hated folder once more but this time he attached all three pictures, the one of Bucky alone and the two of both of them, to the big picture of Bucky as the so-called Winter soldier, before closing it again and letting it lie on the table where it had been untouched for the last couple of days.

They were his motivation and reminder to find his friend, to get back what he had lost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter, I'm making progress, yay! Thanks for the kudos and comment on the first chapter. Betaed by the usual lovely girl, Christina. 
> 
> Hope you like it. Still a tiny bit nervous.

It was early in the morning when Steve pulled the door shut behind him. The so-called magic hour of the day where it wasn't really night but also not really day. Twilight. He went down the stairs and stepped out on the street, breathing in the cold air. His keys were jiggling in his pocket when he turned around and walked down the street. It was just a quick walk to the grocery store, it would only take him a few minutes to get there. He liked to go there early, hardly any people there, no one who would recognize him. In general, he liked the people but sometimes he just wanted to be a normal civil person doing their stuff.

He pulled the collar of his jacket a bit tighter around his neck, his breath was lightly visible in the morning air. Only a few people were crossing his way at a time like this.

 

He stepped into the small shop, greeted the owner like he always did and collected what he needed from the shelves in the small corridors. When Steve was about to pay, wallet out and money already in hand, he suddenly stopped mid-movement. He had a weird feeling, the hair on his neck suddenly standing tall. He looked back over his left shoulder but there was no one else in the shop.

 

"Everything alright?” the small man behind the counter asked and took the money Steve finally handed over. "Yes, I'm fine. I just thought…forget it." he replied, playing it off like nothing happened, shook his head and left with a good bye.

 

He walked a little bit faster than usual on his way back. The feeling of someone being behind him, like in the store he thought, still present in his mind.He turned around a corner, stopped and turned around to look down the street. No one. Not even a car, it was still very early, not even school kids were out yet. The sun was hardly above the horizon.

 

He continued on his way back and when he reached his flat,he thought for a second about locking his front door but in the end he didn't _._ That would be too crazy. Instead he called Tony.

 

"Hey, it's Steve." He didn't even let Tony finish his sassy greeting and complaining about the early hour of the day although it was always early for Tony, he just continued speaking. "Are there any news on the security footage around my block? You know, the one I talked to you about a few days ago."

 

He could hear typing on the other end of the line. "Give me a sec. Did anything happen?" Tony replied and Steve declined. "No, I just had a weird feeling. So, anything?"

 

The line was silent for a moment, then Jarvis was speaking in the background about updates on the security system Tony recently had installed around Steve's apartment.

 

"You hear that? Nothing. I checked everything. No one's been near your apartment or you. You sure everything's alright there?" Tony actually sounded concerned. After he had heard what had happened in D.C. and that Steve had nearly died, he had instantly offered his help to take care of the after-mess.

 

"Yes, thanks. I'll call again if I need you." He hung up on Tony and sorted the groceries into the fridge or wherever their place was.

 

It was already evening, the sky had turned darker and darker over the past few hours, when he suddenly felt watched again. He set down the tablet and its pen on the small table in front of him and got up from the couch he has been sitting on. He looked around. Everything was quiet, nothing different or out of place. He sat down and picked up the tablet again, scrolling through the mails Sam had sent him earlier with information about people who thought they have seen Bucky on his run. A figure dressed in black, a shiny arm on his side. Or was it just a man wearing a black shirt? They were scattered around the whole country, no source got proven right so far. It was too many and too many of them were wrong.

 

A map was laid out on the table, small needles in different colours pinned down into the paper on different locations. Locations people thought the Winter Soldier might be at, and locations where Steve thought Bucky might go if he was able to remember anything from before his transformation. Memories from another life.

 

His eyes started to hurt the later the evening became. Looking down at the screen of the tablet for hours was exhausting and when he finally turned it off, it was already near midnight. A few more needles had found their place on the map. There'd be a lot of work to do if he and Sam actually wanted to check every place for Bucky. Tony would maybe help if he'd ask him again but Natasha was gone for now, making up new cover identities before she could be contacted again. He knew he couldn't drag too many friends into his search for Bucky, it would be too dangerous if someone else were to find out. He was sure that there were still people working in the underground for Shield or Hydra. He couldn't risk it.

 

He left everything on the table in the living room when he went over to his bedroom and just dropped down on the mattress, falling asleep instantly into unruly dreams. It weren't nightmares about his time in war, he was long over that. No, these dreams were new and they were about seeing Bucky again for the first time in the smoke between the burning cars after thinking him dead for so many years. They were about him fighting his best friend who had been turned to something he'd never do if he'd be his true self. His dreams always ended with him falling down from the helicarrier into the water. But instead of waking up injured and only half-conscious on the shore, without knowing how he got there, sometimes he thinks he remembers a shadow moving in front of his eyes. He always woke up in his bed, starring at the white ceiling above him. The dreams had started the day he got out of the hospital to move in with Sam for a couple of days.

 

He didn’t wake up screaming but they still left him feeling exhausted. He felt the blood pumping through his veins, making his bruises hurt anew. Bucky had been too strong, it would take him some more time to heal completely. The shot wound would maybe even leave a scar.

 

Slowly, Steve got out of his bed, he had only been asleep for two hours at least. It has become his usual routine to get up and walk around aimlessly in his flat. He had done that in Sam's flat as well. One night he had even replaced huge parts of the shot wall to get his mind off of his dreams. It hardly helped but at least he had something to do. Like now when he prepared some filler paste to mend a few of the shot holes That were still left in his living room. It was a quiet work, the filler leaving a strange smell in the air that somehow helped to make him feel sleepy again but not enough to go back to bed.

 

The thoughts about his dreams were still vivid on his mind. He felt like falling every time he closed his eyes again and every time he fell, he also saw this shadow standing above him. Did he really pull him out of the water? Had he really been saved by someoneor was his imagination just making up things to make him feel better about the unknown situation? It would have been easy for the Winter Soldier to kill him at that moment, but he was still alive. So had it actually been Bucky in that moment?

 

The thoughts running through his head left him exhausted. They were thoughts coming up more and more in his mind lately, especially since he had gotten the file of data about the Soldier. Steve put the filler paste aside and left it standing in its little bucket on the floor where he had spread some old newspapers so as to not get the floor dirty.

 

He walked down the dark corridor back to his bedroom and fell into a sleep that didn't get him the rest he needed. At least it was dreamless and he didn't wake up a second time this night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite writing lots of Christmas cards and being busy wrapping gifts, I'm also already writing on the next chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update but Christmas days kept me busy. Here ya go, betaed by my usual girl.

Steve leaned with his back against the kitchen counter when a shadow appeared where no shadow should be. He tensed. Slowly, he set down the mug of tea he's been holding but then he jumped around to face the window the already low sun was shining through. He winced at the pain his still injured ribs made at the movement.

 

There was no one there, the lower roof from the attached building was clear, only a few birds were sitting there. But something had blocked the sun and caused the moving shadow that had vanished as soon as it had appeared. A shadow like that couldn't be caused by a cloud.

 

He was alarmed, looked around and took in his surroundings before he picked up his coffee again. Someone had been in front of the window, he was sure of that. He looked to the other window he could see from where he stood. No one there. Everything as usual.

 

He thought about calling Tony in New York again but Tony would have already contacted him first if the security system had noticed some unwanted changes. It was weird. It couldn't be that he was imagining all this.

 

The mug forgotten, he leaned across the table and reached for the folder that was pushed so far, it nearly fell off the edge. He couldn't remember placing it that far from where he had sat two evenings earlier. Maybe it had just slipped somehow.

 

He opened it, prepared to catch the small pictures before they'd fall out and land on the floor but there were just the two pictures that had been in it all the time. The large one of Bucky being frozen in the cryo tank and the small one of him in his uniform. The two small pictures of him and Bucky were gone but he was sure he had placed them in there. He turned over the next page, shaking the folder a bit to check if they might have slipped between the pages. Nothing.

 

He lets the folder fall on the table and crouched down, checking the floor and the seats around the table to see if the pictures were laying there. Still nothing. But where did they disappear to? And how?

 

Steve sat down on one of the wooden chairs, mindlessly reaching for his mug still sitting on the counter. Thoughts began to run in his head. He occasionally heard noises, felt watched even though no one was there. He saw shadows where no shadows should be and things disappeared. Something was definitely not alright. Has someone been in his flat without Tony's security system noticing anything was off? But how was that possible?

 

He emptied his mug and left it on the table when he stood up and went through every room of his small flat to lock the latches in front of the few windows, just in case. It wasn't much of a safety attempt, if someone really wanted to get in, they could easily break the window glass or do something else. But it was better than nothing. He checked his bedroom, but he would have noticed if someone else had been in there. Back in the living room, he checked the shelves and the drawers. Everything was closed and still in place.

 

He returned to his bedroom, kneeled down in from of his bed and pulled out a box which was hidden behind the blankets hanging from the bed. Steve opened the small black locked box which lay in it. A hand gun and a magazine lay in it and he took both out, loaded the gun and placed it on his night stand next to his bed. It wouldn't be long until dusk. He wouldn't risk anything and the gun was the only weapon he had; his shield was still missing, lost somewhere on the ground of the lake next to the halfway collapsed Triskelion. He had made a mental note to get it back somehow, but he totally forgot about it when he came back.

 

Everything prepared, he headed back to the kitchen and dialed Tony's number after he had changed his previous thought about calling him.

 

"Hey Cap, if you're calling to get an update on your ghost follower, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Everything's been calm around you."

 

Steve heard a chuckle in his voice and Jarvis making a comment in the background.

 

"Something's going on here. I'm sure someone was in my flat. Things are…" He stopped mid-sentence and looked around in his flat. "Things are not quite as they should be."

 

"Are you getting paranoid, Cap?" he joked, but Steve's serious sounding "No." made him shut up. 

 

"Do you think it's him?" Tony eventually asked in a slightly lower and less cheerful voice than before.

 

For a moment the line was silent.

 

"I don't know. Could be. Maybe." Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, I think so."

 

"Are you prepared? Should I contact someone for you?" Tony offered but Steve declined. "I'm fine. If things go out of control, I'll call Sam and he'll be here in an instant. I can handle that. Just keep an extra eye on the security, will you? Although I think it won't be of any help if it hasn't noticed anything by now."

 

Tony gave Jarvis some instructions on the monitoring around the Captain and to check all sensors, cameras and other technical gimmicks he had placed around the flat.

 

"We'll stay in touch," he said before the line went dead.

 

 

It was already late at night when Steve stirred in his sleep and finally woke up completely. His t-shirt was twisted around his body. It wasn't a dream this time but something different that drew him out of his sleep. A quick glance to the shining clock told him it was more like early morning than late at night.

 

Something felt weird and without making a sound, he slowly reached for his gun, trusting the feeling in his tummy. He held his breath and listened through the darkness of his room. There was no sound next to his own heartbeat he could hear pounding in his ears. But there was something else. Something that shouldn't be here, not after he had locked all the windows earlier.

 

He felt a light wind ghosting over his face.

 

Slowly, he slid out of his bed, slipped a pair of sweat pants he had lying near his shorts, and pressed himself against the wall next to the slightly ajar door. The gun was cold in his right hand when he carefully pushed open the door and stepped out into the corridor.

 

His training as a soldier kicking in, he tried to breathe slowly and be as quiet as possible. He checked the floor to both sides and as far as he could see it was empty. Through the open door of the bathroom in front of him, he could see the closed window.

 

The captain made another few steps, back still pressed to the wall, the gun lifted high next to his face, finger on the trigger. The weird feeling about something being off still present and getting stronger the closer he got to the kitchen and living room area.

 

Again he could feel a cold wind against his skin. It nearly felt like someone was breathing down his neck. He shuddered and held his breath when he reached the corner of the floor to the other rooms.

 

Another wave of cold air hit him and when he turned into the kitchen, he was faced with an open window. The same one he had looked through in the afternoon when he had been sure to have seen a shadow. With two large steps he reached the counter, leaned over it and without thinking, he stuck his head through the opening to check the roof, the risk of his actions completely forgotten.

Empty like before. Nothing to see, just the faint lights from the streets. A few puddles from an earlier rain were shimmering in the light, motionless like a mirror. Steve set down the gun next to him on the sink and pulled down the pushed up window. The latch wasn't broken, it seemed like it had been pushed open with something small from the other side through the window frame. He closed it again, and ready to go back to bed, he turned around.

He froze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it.  
> Be safe tonight and a happy new year!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everyone. Sorry for taking so much time, I actually wanted to upload this chapter last weekend but, uh...  
> Hope you like this one, it's a little bit longer than the previous ones.

He could feel his heartbeat quicken before he got himself under control. For a moment he was surprised and could feel the shock running through his whole body. The faint light from the lamps outside shining through the windows did not let Steve see the person in front of him. But somehow Steve knew who it was anyway. He'd always recognize the body frame.

"Bucky," he breathed but didn't dare to move. The name hung in the air, waiting for a reaction from the other man. Steve tensed, preparing himself for a possible attack from the other man although he kinda felt like it wasn't necessary. The soldier remained calm and silent, just staring back at the captain.

The silence was hardly bearable for Steve but then it was broken.

"I don't know..." The voice was quiet but still deep. A bit raspy. "I don't know who I am," he continued again. "But apparently _you_ do know. You know me and I used to know you." He made another short break and both men just watched each other, standing.

"Can you help me?"

Steve just stood there, shocked, not knowing what to do despite being trained to react quickly.  
Bucky was back and he asked him for help.

"Can you help me remember?" he asked again and came two steps closer. A line of light crossed his face and revealed a face hidden behind a scruffy beard and a base cap.

The Winter Soldier has just asked Captain America to help him find his memories, his life back. Steve needed a moment to process his request.

"Yes. Yes, I'll help you," Steve finally answered and his shoulders relaxed, just like the man on the other side of the room. "Do you mind if I turn on the light?" he asked in a gentle voice, he still only saw the soldier's frame in front of the window. For a moment, silence filled the small flat before he got an uncertain answer. "Okay."

The man standing in front of him wasn't a soldier anymore. He wasn't wearing his uniform anymore. The black vest and jacket gone, no heavy black boots. No goggles or muzzle in front of his face. Instead he was dressed in jeans and trainers, a normal shirt and a jacket, a base cap covering his head and holding his long hair back. A beard, a few days old, covered his face. He looked a bit dirty but there was definitely no mistaking him even with his completely different look. At least for Steve.

They stood there in silence, taking each other in, how much they both had changed. The exhausted looking man squinted his eyes lightly. But then Steve heard Bucky's breath and a rattle coming with it when he exhaled.

"Are you injured? Do you need any help?" These words said, he immediately thought them stupid. Of course he'd be injured. No one could heal that fast after the heavy fight they had had, even though both their metabolisms were working a couple of times faster than that of a normal human. The fight had been over a week ago. But still.

The man groaned and suddenly all his strength seemed to leave his body when his legs got weak. Steve rushed forward, catching him and letting him slip down on the couch next to where he had stood. Bucky flinched under his touch and Steve quickly leaned back, hands away. "Sorry. Sorry, Buck."

It felt good to use his old nickname again although the circumstances weren't the best. He hardly recognized he had just said that.

His breathing got heavier and for a second Steve was worried he might pass out. Slowly, he moved closer and motioned to the dirty shirt. Bucky nodded and so he carefully slid up the fabric, revealing heavy bruises and stitches that looked like they've never seen a doctor. The bruises were already turning green and yellow on some parts but the stitching was surrounded by a concerning red colour.

"Did you do that?"

"I couldn't easily go to a hospital, you know?" He bit down on his bottom lip, his muscles tightening when Steve inspected his abdomen, though he just held up the shirt. "I had to do something. You hurt me pretty much that day."

"Yeah." The captain nodded. "You weren't easy on me either."  
"You were my target."  
"And now I'm not?"  
"No." Another heavy breath. "I don't want you to be."

Steve took in the words. The Winter Soldier wasn't the Winter Soldier anymore. He has begun to change.

"Someone has to take care of that, I'll take you to a doctor," but he barely finished that sentence when he got cut off. "No. No one must know about me. You have to do it!"

He let go of the shirt and stood up again, considering his words for a moment. "Okay." He halfway turned around but stopped. "How did you make it through the last days with these injuries?" Steve wondered.

"I am..." He inhaled and exhaled slowly. "...a trained soldier. I had a task to do and I stole some..." He winced again. "...I stole some painkillers somewhere."

And now that he was here, all his energy was suddenly leaving him, making him collapse in the living room he tried to destroy only a couple of days previously.

"I'll see what I can do but first you need to clean up. You look like you could do well with a shower." Bucky's eyes seemed to get heavy and he suddenly looked really tired. "C'mon, get up. Can you walk?" He stretched out a hand for support but again the touch was avoided.

He heaved himself out of the soft couch, standing at nearly same height as his former friend. "I can do it myself." He pressed his right hand to his injured stomach. It was now that Steve noticed his metallic hand being hidden in a leather glove.  
"You can find everything you'll need in the cupboard beneath the sink. The bath is..." He left the sentence unfinished when Bucky walked past him and took slow steps down the corridor to open the right door.

"Yes, I know. Thank you."

Steve watched him. "I'll get you something clean to wear."

The door fell shut and he was left standing in the living room. For a moment, he stood there and watched the closed door not quite believing what had just happened. Bucky had kind of accepted his help and let himself into the bathroom, apparently already knowing where it was.

That explained a thing. But also concerned him at the same time. He would have to talk about it to him later.

The shower started to run when he eventually waked past the bathroom and went to his own bedroom, turned on the lights and searched for something to wear for the man in his bathroom. Bucky was a bit smaller than him, his clothes would be too loose but not much. He got a shirt out that wouldn’t cling to his wounds and another pair of sweat pants he didn’t wear anymore because the legs were too short after washing it too hot. It would fit Bucky.

Together with a pair of boxers, he placed the folded clothes on the floor in front of the door. He knocked.

“I’ve got some clothes for you. They are here.”

He didn’t get a reply but the water was turned off and he could hear the sounds of a drawer being opened and closed. He’d found the towels.

Steve was in the kitchen, searching for the first aid kit Natasha told him once he’d need someday because as an Avenger things could always turn bad, when he heard the bathroom door being opened and shut to get the clothes in. Only about a minute later, Bucky came down the floor and stopped next to the kitchen counter. His still slightly wet hair was mostly pushed back and tucked behind his ears, but a few strands were framing his face.

He tucked on his long sleeves, pulling his left hand inside. Steve was the first to speak when he saw what Bucky was doing. “You were wearing a glove, so I figured you want to cover…” He trailed of when Bucky looked up for the first time. He’d shaved.

“Yes. It’s good”, he just answered but Steve continued to watch him. It was the face of the man he was back in their old days. Not the one of the killer with the stubble they called the Winter Soldier.

“Why are you staring at me?”

Steve blinked and noticed what he’d done. “Sorry. It’s just…” He placed the kit on the table before he spoke again. “…you look so different and yet you still look like you.”

A confused expression ghosted over the other man’s face. “But I’m no-one. Not anymore.”

He turned around and dropped down on the spot of the couch where he had sat before. During that moment, Steve felt a pain in his chest that nearly made him cry. It wasn’t anything physical, though. But the fact that Bucky thought of himself as a no-one made him incredibly sad and angry.

The first sunrays began to peek over the horizon when Steve followed the injured Soldier with the supplies and kneeled down beside him on the ground. Without saying anything, Bucky himself pushed up his shirt and revealed his injured stomach. Carefully not to touch his skin more than needed, Steve began to clean the wounds and stitch them up again as good as possible. Bucky winced a couple of times but he grinded his teeth together and tightened his muscles to not make a noise.

When Steve was done, he lowered the shirt again. “Anything else?” “No, I took care of that”, Bucky answered and now it was his turn to stare at the other one while Steve stuffed the used gauze and plasters he had needed in a small plastic bag to throw away later.

“Why are you helping me?” he suddenly asked, his voice low and calm. Steve stopped in his movement and looked up. For a second, he studied his face and the stern look on it.

“Because you asked me to.”  
“I tried to kill you.”  
“You are my friend.”  
“Am I?”

The painful feeling in Steve’s chest came back and he suddenly had the urge to reach out and rest his hand on the other man’s arm in a comforting way, but before he could actually do it, Bucky flinched away from the touch again.

“Sorry, sorry, I forgot.” He drew back his hand and stood up. While doing so, he spotted something on the ground, half hidden behind the couch Bucky was sitting on. He hadn’t noticed it before in the dark. Steve bent down to pick it up and suddenly he realized what it was.

In his hand he held his vibranium shield, neatly folded clothes were tucked on the inside of the curved metal. It were Bucky’s clothes he had worn during their fight. His battle suit.

Steve held both tightly in his hands and turned his view to Bucky who tried to avoid his eyes.

“You brought my shield.”

It was neither a question, nor did he get an answer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for the lovely and encouraging comments. Here's the next one, hope you like it. Thanks to my friend again who's beta reading the whole story.   
> (I also changed the summary with last chapter's update. Maybe you've noticed but it's not important.)

The following day had been spent mostly sleeping and talking.

Bucky had passed out on the couch right after Steve had discovered the shield on the floor. His exhaustion clearly visible on his face when his head fell back on the soft backrest, his arms laying limp on both sides.

Steve didn’t want to leave him there alone so he sat down on the other side of the couch and it didn’t take much time to fall asleep again either. The tiredness from the early morning hours still fogging up his head now that the excitement from Bucky’s sudden return had settled down.

A couple of hours later around noon, the couch creaked and Steve’s subconscious noticed a sudden movement to his left. Opening his eyes, he saw Bucky pushing himself as far away from Steve as possible, a frightened expression on his face and a heavy knife in his metallic hand. He seemed ready to fight. 

“Who are you? Where am I?” 

“Bucky, calm down, it’s me, Steve. You came here for help.”

Steve got up from the couch and gave Bucky the space he needed for himself. He could hear the other man’s heavy breathing when he pressed his back to the wall behind him. 

“Who’s Bucky? Don’t call me that!”

His face was confused but then turned to look more concentrated. He tried to remember and his breathing slowed down again when he noticed that the bulky blond man in front of him was no threat.

“You are Bucky. Bucky Barnes.” 

The man named Bucky lowered the knife but his grip around the handle was still tight. His expression softened as if the memory from what happened at last night came back.

“Yes, I remember coming here. I must have…” He rubbed his face with his flesh hand. “I must have forgotten. I know who you are. You are the man on the bridge.” He sighed and slowly moved to sit down again but still clutched the knife.

“You can let go of it, I won’t harm you” Steve made clear but didn’t move from the far corner he was standing. Bucky’s view switched between the man and the knife and he suddenly let it fall on the small table. It made a rattling sound and he stared at it as if he got hurt, even burned by it. As if he didn’t realize he was holding it in the first place.

Slowly, Steve eventually stepped closer. Silence surrounded both of them for a moment before Steve trusted himself enough to speak again.

“You must be starving. How long haven’t you eaten?”

Bucky just shrugged, still staring at the knife as if it could develop a life of its own. 

“I’m gonna make us something to eat.” Steve turned to go to the kitchen. “And then we’re gonna talk.”

 

They spent the whole afternoon and most of the evening in the living room, bent over a big plate of food Bucky wolfed down, and talking to each other about both their pasts, as much as they could remember. Bucky explained he’d been to the Smithsonian to the exhibition about the famous Captain America. And that he found himself there. Or at least the man he was supposed to be but still couldn’t really connect with. 

“It said we’d been friends from childhood days on.”

He couldn’t remember anything of this, all he knew about his past was what he read at the exhibition, about this Bucky Barnes who had his face, his apparently best friend Steve Rogers who was the man sitting in front of him, and how they both died after fighting together with the Howling Commandos. And yet, they were both still alive. Damaged and not quite themselves.

Steve was calmly listening to every word Bucky said although on the inside he was angry and hurt at the same time for what they had done to him. When Bucky explained how they had wiped his mind again and again and again, all over again, he could hardly hold himself back to punch something. But he didn’t let it show.

“Why did you call me the man on the bridge?” Steve asked when Bucky had finished his last sentence. He saw him shifting on the other side of the couch, nervously tucking his hair behind the ears again. 

“I don’t know. There are just…a few bits I can remember. They brainwashed me again after the fight we had. We had a fight there on the highway, didn’t we?” Steve nodded in agreement and Bucky continued. “Your face,” He looked up to Steve. “…was somehow familiar. I dunno where it came from but there was something in my head, a sudden picture. And then you said this name. You called me _Bucky_.” He looked hurt, actually broken when he lowered his eyes again to focus on his metal hand that was halfway hidden in the long sleeve of his shirt.

“But I remember what happened on the Helicarrier. You were my mission, the target.” His fists clenched and he gripped the fabric of the couch. “I should have killed you but…” He let the sentence unfinished. “It was the first time I disobeyed my orders.” His fists relaxed and once again he faced Steve, his mouth dry from all the talking. 

Steve exhaled. Of course he remembered their fight. How he let Bucky punch him instead of fighting him. He’d been so strong, even Steve had struggled to act against it. And it was his whole body, not just the arm.

“Is that why you got my shield? Why you went to the Smithsonian?

The shield and his suit still rested on the floor next to the couch. Both men looked at it and Bucky suddenly reached to pick it up. He rested the shield upside down on his legs, took out his suit and handed the demolished metal over to its rightful owner.

“I found it in the lake where…” Again he let the sentence unfinished and watched Steve taking the vibranium shield and inspecting it. “I had to come back. I don’t know why or how I got there but I had to come back to get it.” He spoke quietly but he somehow trusted Steve enough to tell him about it. He clutched his battle suit to his chest, though. Steve eyed him.

“What’s with your suit?”

Bucky shrugged again. “I couldn’t leave it behind. Somehow.”

Steve didn’t say anything. Instead he picked up the empty plate where only some bread crumbs were left. He came back from the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee. He filled up their mugs and Bucky inhaled the fresh scent.

“I liked my coffee like this, didn’t I?”

Steve smiled, happy his friend seemed to remember at least a tiny detail of his former life. “Yes, you did.”

Bucky put the suit aside on the floor and placed the knife on it. He leaned back, the mug in his right hand.

“Tell me more about myself.”

 

Steve woke up to a scratching noise coming from his living room. It was still dark, the curtains blocking out any light from down the street. The shiny red numbers on his clock told him it wasn't even 3am. He got up, the cold floor below his bare feed sent a shiver through his body. Rubbing his eyes, he stepped out on the floor, slowly walking down the few meters to turn around the corner where the light noise and a soft light were coming from. 

He saw Bucky sitting on the cold floor, his legs crossed below him when he faced the wall, a spatula in hand, filling one of the shot holes in the wall with a grey paste. Because his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, his left arm shone in the dim light coming from the small lamp. He’d found the filling Steve had used a few nights previous. 

"I made these, didn't I?" His voice was dark. Lower than usual, like he had spent the day in a loud room, shouting to be heard instead of calmly talking to Steve. It wasn't really much of a question. Steve wasn't surprised that Bucky had been aware of his presence. "Yes."

He stepped closer, his bare feet reached the not so cold carpet Bucky had pushed to the side a bit to not get it dirty. The hole he was working on was filled and he lay down the spatula. His eyes were fixed on his hands when Steve sat down on the chair Fury's been shot on right next to him. 

"I couldn't sleep. I needed a distraction." Bucky mumbled the words but Steve could hear them anyway. "I know," he answered and nodded to the other already filled holes. "I do that, too."

Bucky looked up and slightly turned his head in his direction. His hair was tucked behind his ears in a messy way after having tried to sleep for a couple of hours. Steve noticed that both blanket and pillow were lying on the wooden ground. Steve had offered to make him a proper bed on a spare mattress earlier after their long talk, but Bucky had declined.

"The couch is too soft, isn't it?"

His friend nodded, his view turning down to his hands again. "I always slept on the floor or hard benches when they had me," he explained. "At least I think so," he added after a short moment, trying to get his memories right. 

Steve knew exactly how Bucky felt. "It took me months to get used to a proper bed when I came back from war. I slept on the floor way too often after they found me." He tried to smile to make the other man feel better about himself though he didn't know if Bucky noticed. 

"There are a lot of things I have to get used to, I think." He completely put the spatula aside now and got up from the floor to silently settle down on the carpet with his blanket again. "I didn't want to wake you up. You should go back to sleep."

Steven watched him for a moment. "But will you be able to sleep?" He sat still on the chair. "I'll try to," was Bucky's answer. After another minute, Steve got up as well and turned off the light on his way back to his bedroom. 

They both slept until the next morning, the sun already high in the sky when Steve put on the kettle to make some coffee. He'd been quiet when he'd passed Bucky, who was still laying on the floor, eyes closed and for once a peaceful and relaxed expression on his face. Steve wondered how long Bucky has not slept. 

Bucky stirred when he heard the kettle whistle. He slowly sat up, looking around like he didn't know where he was until he saw Steve standing in the kitchen, pouring the hot water over the coffee powder before he turned his head and noticed his friend was awake. His light smile turned into a frown when he saw Bucky’s expression, worried he might freak out again like the first time he woke up yesterday. But when nothing happened, it seemed like a weight has been lifted off both their shoulders.

For once, he hadn’t forgotten who he was and why he was here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my darlings, thank you so very much for the lovely comments I've got for the last chapter. Sorry it took me so long to upload this chapter here. 
> 
> I really hope you like it, although I'm a little bit worried I messed up the continuity or logic or whatever. Anyway, thanks to my lovely beta reader, Christina.

Days had passed.

It’s been nearly a week by now where Steve and Bucky had tried to live with each other, get used to each other, know each other again.

Things had happened. Awful things. But also good things.

Steve had woken up with the knife's blade pressed to his throat in the middle of the night more than once after Bucky had had one of his nightmares, confused about himself and his surroundings. Steve had to talk him down.

"Buck, look at me. It's me. Steve."

The man who pressed him down into the matters and sat on his chest was staring at him, a furious expression on his face but hardly noticeable in the dark. Steve's eyes had to adjust to it at first after being ripped out of his sleep so suddenly.

"Bucky, put the knife away, you don't need it."  

Bucky's breathing was quick and the knife still pressed to Steve's throat. A thin scratch would be noticeable the next morning.     
"We are friends. You're safe with me."  

Steve could feel the other man suddenly relax a bit and the knife was pulled away. Steve wondered if he'd seen a frightened look in Bucky's eyes or if he had just imagined it. Without a word, Bucky's weight was lifted off of him and he was out the door, back to his camp in the living room.

Despite another man sitting on his chest, he hadn't felt any pain. The bruises were gone, his broken bones were healed again.

The second time Bucky had attacked him in the middle of the night, Steve had known what to say. 

"We're friends. You're safe with me."  

But this time Bucky didn't escape that quickly when he realized what he was doing. "I'm Bucky Barnes. I'm your friend. You are Steve." He exhaled, his chest moved up and down, his voice quiet. "I remember. I’ve seen your face in my dreams, I remember us doing things together." The knife fell to the floor and Bucky on the mattress next to Steve, his back turned to him with some distance between them. His breath was steady now, he was fast asleep quite quickly.     
But Steve laid awake, thinking about the fact that Bucky remembered his own name. Them. The next morning, Steve found his friend standing in the kitchen, preparing coffee. "You can call me Bucky now," he had said and a smile had appeared on Steve's lips.

It took Bucky two days to accept his name again afterwards. He woke up and had forgotten who he was. Two days until he reacted to Steve calling him Bucky again without questioning who the hell this Bucky was. Two days for Steve to talk to him and convince him that he was not the Winter Soldier anymore. He finally remembered that it was actually him but these memories were still blurred in his head. But it was a new start.

After that, things went quite smoothly.

“Tell me more.”

It was something Steve heard quite often. It was a question coming out of the blue whenever Bucky was around him. So Steve told him. He told him about their lives before they had both joined the army. How they had become friends, what they had done together, how Bucky had always tried to get him a date and how it never worked out because the gals had always been disappointed by Steve and fancied Bucky more than anybody else.

He told him about everything he knew about Bucky’s past, he told him about what had happened after he had rescued him from Hydra in 1944 and one day they even talked about how they had died.

Bucky still needed his space, though. He didn’t let Steve get too close to him.

 

“The hell, Steve? What’s going on?”

It was Sam’s voice at the other end of the phone line after a couple of days. He sounded annoyed but worried at the same time.

“I’ve been sending you e-mails and stuff and you don’t reply anymore. No updates on your search and stuff.”

Steve swallowed, trying to think quickly about a response that wouldn’t give away that Bucky was here with him, but still was believable. Bucky still refused to let others know he was here or even alive. Not even Tony knew after he’d called more times. Steve had totally forgotten about Sam, Bucky still had all of his attention.

“Yes, sorry. Some things came up that need to be handled. I wanted to message you but you know, I somehow got distracted.” Steve was sure it wasn’t as convincing as he hoped but on the other hand it wasn’t even a lie. He noticed Sam was hesitant on the other end. Bucky watched him, standing in the door and listening to every word the men on the phone said. Steve could feel his eyes on him.

“You need any help?”

Steve turned around and faced Bucky, giving him the silent reassurance, that he wouldn’t tell Sam about him being here.

“No, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Bucky blinked and pushed himself away from the doorframe, walked past Steve and opened the fridge like he’d lived here all his life. Steve followed him with his eyes, phone still to his ear.

“Cap? You still there?”  
“What? Yes, yes, sorry. I’m fine, I don’t need any help.”

 

It was the same night when he could feel the other side of the bed dip down next to him. The covers shuffled for a moment, then the silence was back, only interrupted by an unsteady breath.

Steve didn't move and let his eyes closed, not even half awake he still asked "Nightmares again?" After a few seconds he got a quiet "Hmm" as a reply.

"It's okay," Steve said and turned halfway around after sleeping on his stomach. Now they were laying back to back. Steve could feel his friend's body heat through the fabric of both their shirts and he was sure Bucky felt it as well because his breath got calmer and steadier.

"Buck?"  
"Yes?"  
"What are your dreams about?"

They had never talked about it since Steve discovered Bucky had nightmares as well. It actually hasn't been a surprise for him. Who wouldn't have those dreams after what he had to go through.

Bucky was silent a bit more. He could feel the movement of him breathing, his back moving against his own with every breath back a few more times before he eventually answered Steve's question.

"They are..." He stopped once more, uncertain if he should really talk about it. "I remember the cold. It's always the cold. There are other things. But the cold is always present." His words were muffled in the pillow that halfway covered his face, but Steve could still hear them, thanks to his manipulated genetics.

Bucky pulled the blanket higher around his shoulders, the other man could feel him tugging on the sheets.

It wasn't the first time Bucky came over to his room to sleep rather than to attack him in the middle of the night. He still wanted to sleep in the living room on the couch or occasionally the floor, but when his dreams got worse, he sometimes decided to lie next to his friend. At first Steve had been surprised but didn’t say anything when Bucky slipped under the covers of the right side of the bed, but he got used to it really quickly, happy that his friend had apparently found something he was comfortable with. And if it might help, he wouldn’t object.

Steve had told him about their shared nights before the war three days after Bucky had accidentally fallen asleep next to him. How they had put pillows and blankets on the floor and slept there. It had always given comfort to Steve when they had these sleepovers and so he thought it might give him as well.

And it did.

After that night, the fact that Bucky suddenly let himself be touched by Steve was strange and new. He didn't flinch that much anymore when Steve accidentally brushed him while waking past or when he let a hand rest on his arm or shoulder when he talked to him like Bucky had done so many times before. Bucky got calmer and it gave Steve hope that his friend might find his true self back sooner than expected.

“We need to buy you new clothes”, Steve said one evening, stuffing all their laundry in the washer below the sink while Bucky sat on the couch in one of Steve’s big shirts and only a pair of boxers after giving up _his_ sweat pants to be washed, eating the last bits of cornflakes.

“I’m not gonna leave this apartment.” He munched on the crunchy flakes. “No way.”

Steve pressed the start button and the machine began to hum.

“You’re not gonna hurt anyone, Bucky.” 

“I’m not gonna hurt _you_. There’s a difference. And if it happens, you can fight against me. The others can’t.”

“But-“ Steve got cut off by Bucky’s suddenly louder voice.  “I’m just not ready yet, okay?”

Steve watched him, unknowingly taking a step back when Bucky gave him a stare that felt like it could hurt. The washing machine hummed in the background.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" Bucky tried to explain but trailed off, trying to focus on getting the last cornflakes out of the milk.

"No, don't be," Steve said.

The next day, Steve came back home with a bag of new clothes that should fit his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to say that you might have to wait a little bit longer for the next update. I have hardly written anything for chapter seven yet, and I'm currently bussy with something called "the real life" and investing my writing skills rather in work related stuff than this fic. I'm not abandoning this fic, it'll just take a little bit more time now to update it. 
> 
> Really hope you liked this chapter. Let me know what your think. And since it's close to 2am, I stop drinking wine and go to bed now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to write this chapter but some things got in the way. Like broken bones, lots of bruises and the inability to write without being in pain or typing slowly with one finger. (I also might have forgotten about it for a short moment, got distracted and was busy with work - which I actually still am but I wouldn't want to let you wait any longer.)
> 
> Betaed by my usual girl C. Thanks, dear. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading it and I didn't mess up the plot...

It somehow turned into a habit that Bucky would come over in the middle of the night to climb into bed on the other side. At first, Bucky just lay down on top of the covers, the chill of the night didn't seem to bother him. One night he finally brought his own blanket from the living room and curled himself into it. Steve noticed when he turned around in his light sleep and suddenly had the unfamiliar fabric in his face. He calmly fell asleep again. The next morning both Bucky and the blanket were gone again.

Every night Bucky came over to Steve's room, he either had had a nightmare or something else was keeping him awake. Memories from killing people, people who apparently had seemed to deserve it, but also innocent ones.

"Is it still the cold that comes back to you in your dreams?" Steve asked when he was sure Bucky still laid awake next to him. An arm-length of space between them, because Bucky had been scared to hurt Steve in some way in his sleep, Bucky started talking.

"I can't remember my past properly. But I can clearly remember what I did recently," he said and stared at the ceiling. He could hear Steve's breathing next to him. "They..." He always avoided their name. _Hydra._ It never got over his lips. "... _they_ sat me on a chair and locked my arms so I couldn't move." The pictures of his memories vividly played in his mind. He swallowed.

"They manipulated my brain through some kind of electricity." He said it without a hint of emotion but inside of him, he clearly felt the pain like in the moment it had actually happened to him.

Steve had tears in his eyes Bucky couldn't see. To hear what his best friend had had to endure was as much of a torture to him as it must have been for Bucky. He stayed silent, though, and still listened to the story he already knew parts of.

"They wiped my memories from my past and turned me into a thing. I was their thing, their asset, their soldier." He shifted slightly and his blanket rustled in the dark. "I couldn't think anymore. All I could was following orders." Steve could hear him swallow. "I killed so many people. I am a killing machine."

"No, you're not! It wasn't your fault," Steve said who couldn't hold it back any longer. He turned to his side to face the dark silhouette next to him. Bucky turned his head, reacting to the motion. "It was still me who did the harm, though."

Steve wanted to touch him in a gesture of comfort like all those days ago when Bucky first had shown up but he didn't dare to reach out since the metallic arm was facing his side and Bucky still reacted in a dangerous way if something or even someone came too close to it. Especially when he couldn't see in the dark, otherwise he sometimes was okay with it. He still wore long sleeved shirts and the glove to hide it. Even at night.

It was the same night Steve had one of his nightmares again and Bucky experienced it for the first time. He'd heard Steve a couple of times when he'd still slept in the living room but lying next to him was different. Steve's breath was faltering, he kicked his duvet down, said words that weren't understandable, rolled around and suddenly sat up straight.

Bucky was sure he heard his name coming from Steve's lips.

Steve's breath was fast, the only sound in the room. Bucky watched him in the dark how he turned around so he'd sit on the edge and could bury his head in his hands. And suddenly Bucky reached out with his normal hand and rested it on the other man's back.

For a second, Steve jumped at the touch but then seemed to melt into the warmth of Bucky's hand when he realized that he wasn't alone after he had jolted out of his dream. He stayed still, not daring to move even the tiniest bit. Bucky had never touched him before unless he had wanted to kill him. He'd always been resistant since he was back.

They stayed like this for a few minutes, neither of them said a single word. "Let's get back to sleep," Steve finally said quietly and let himself fall back on the mattress, Bucky's hand slipping from his back. They both laid back down, Steve could feel lit. It didn't take long for both of them to fall back asleep.

 

"How are your wounds?" Steve asked one day after he had seen the used gauze and plasters thrown in the trash. Bucky somehow unknowingly touched his belly. "It's fine. It doesn't hurt anymore. Just a few light bruises left. But I think the stitching needs to come out." He paused for a moment. "How's _your_ body doing, Steve?"

"Good. The bruises are gone. Also no pain anymore. Everything seems to be healed by now." He lightly touched the side of his chest that was once an open wound. "Looks like the fast metabolism finally kicks in again." He laughed for a second. "Do you want to remove them yourself or want me to help you with the stitches?" He gestured to Bucky's abdomen and shot him a questioning view.

Bucky seemed to think for a moment and hesitated before he answered. "Yeah, I think your help would be good."

Steve nodded. "Sure thing, I'll be right back." He turned around to leave the room only to come back a minute later with a few supplies in hand to remove the stitches.

"Lie back," Steve said but Bucky just watched him without moving from the chair over to the couch like Steve had gestured to, a slightly questioning look in his eyes. Steve sighed. "It's easier that way, your skin's stretched then," he explained and kneeled down on the floor next to the couch where Bucky finally sat down and laid back.

Steve didn't have to say anything, Bucky pulled his shirt up enough to reveal the wound. His hands tightened around the hem of his shirt. The bruises were gone, Steve noticed. His skin wasn't blue, green and yellow coloured anymore. But the stitching around the wound was still red but not as bright anymore as on the first day. It got better.

"I'll be careful, Buck," Steve said when he saw Bucky stoically staring up at the ceiling. "Are you okay?" A light hum was the only answer and with one last glance up to Bucky's face, he eventually started to cut the thin thread that kept the now healed skin together. He slightly pulled on it and a light hiss escaped Bucky's lips. Steve stopped in his movement and turned his head to look at his friend. "Just two more and it's over," he tried to soothe him but Bucky seemed to ignore him, keeping his expression emotionless like he wouldn't feel a thing.

"All done," Steve announced only a couple of seconds later and let the fingertips of his right hand lightly wander over the small scar that was now left on Bucky's abdomen. "Should be completely healed soon."

He completely missed the look ge got from Bucky when he gave the former wound one final soothing touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure yet when the next chapter will be online but comments and kudos keep me going - if you want to.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still nervous about this. So please - if you want to - tell me what you think about it in the comments.


End file.
